


A Rotten Parent

by OctagonsRule



Category: LazyTown
Genre: And yet, Fluff, Friendship, How dare it be so wonderful, I haven't even seen this show since its airings, In which I cannot let a prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:29:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9337583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctagonsRule/pseuds/OctagonsRule
Summary: In which Robbie Rotten prides himself being a villain, but no child should be spending the night alone.





	1. No Cake for the Considerate

It wasn't everyday that such a marvelous plan would go so well.

Sure, it was foiled (what else was new) by that health nut (who else?) and the children's knack for bumbling his contingencies. But by the end of it, his disguise was still in good condition, the flip-fanatic had had at least made of fool of himself a total of 8 _glorious_ times; and to top of this wonderful outing, he'd gotten free cake from it. The only part that soured it was the fact that he'd been _given_ the cake, and the reason the little gremlin had given when they'd put the plate in his hands. The words wouldn't get out of his head, making the quiet evening more difficult to enjoy.

If there was something Robbie Rotten should NEVER have to need to work at in life, it would be being enjoying solitude.

_"And WHAT do you think you're doing? Did this get something on it, and you're just too lazy to find a trashcan pipsqueak?"_

_"Oh, there's not any room in the fridge, and besides if that's in there, I'll just eat that instead of what Mom made while she's away."_

A hand was trying to massage away the dialogue Robbie's thoughts were mounting into, trying to keep a headache of being- oh heaven forbid it,  _ **thoughtfulness**_. 

Alas, genius never rested, whether it was wanted or not. Cake or no cake.

It was strange, really, how little he had seen the parents of the children in town, day in and day out. Not even just in the summer, it seemed that there was almost only 2 adults who were consistently in the little town other than himself and the activity-addict.

"Why did she say that there was no room in the fridge. . . how many meals did her mother have to _make_?" Robbie heard himself muttering, before holding his over hand over his mouth. But it was too late, his imagine going into full swing, details big and small coming to form a deduction that made him want to partially groan, and partially kick something over to watch it break out of sheer frustration.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a knock at the door, and despite the sky lending to turn everything into silhouette against a cool blue that darkened by the minute, there was promptly an answer. The little face that looked out from the inside of the house somehow made things feel just a tad bit ridiculous.

"Robbie? What are you doing here? And why are you carrying a sleeping bag?"

Ok so maybe that wasn't helping matters either. Admittedly, the tall man did look rather out of place, with the object tucked under his arm and positively glowing in whatever light touched it, a shade of pink that the Mayor's niece would approve of to be certain. However, a mastermind of his skills was not one to be so quickly wrongfooted by a _child_ , and so he replied with a question of his own.

"How long has your mom been out of town?"

A set of crossed arms and a scrutinizing stare. Never a good sign when coming from anyone below 5 foot 6.

"What's it to you, thought caring wasn't lazy."

And there it was. If he had the time to rant about the nuances, he would, but it was getting dark out, and patience with children was never one of his strong suits like disguises and misdirection were.

"Well, lazy or not, how do you think it looks for a child to be left home alone at night with no supervision?" Trixie didn't have a remark this time, and Robbie couldn't help but smirk in this brief victory in their conversation, before letting out a sigh. "Despite my best efforts otherwise, I know you well enough that if you're turning down cake then you're not feeling well."

Trixie fidgeted, looking a mix of annoyed and helpless in face of the obvious. There were signs of a mess he'd usually be proud of seeing strewn in the daytime, plates and cups stacked on table space, shoes, mail, and even hats discarded about the floor haphazardly. It was the evident age of it and the context that made it less of a welcome discovery.

"So? What would you do? You got not reason to care," The way she said those words took away his grin, and whatever look he was wearing now seemed to egg her on to add in some sass. "Unless I'm _bothering you_ with how loud it is?"

Robbie hadn't noticed the remote in her hand. Had she had that this whole time? Her finger lingered on the volume setting, and he felt a distinct chill go down his back at the faint sound of something overly peppy and cheerful playing on the TV down the hallway.

"For once, no, and for the sake of Sportafluke don't you _dare._ "

The laughter in response meant that his irritation wasn't being taken seriously, but it felt nice to see the mischief maker happy. When he wasn't in the brunt of her tricks at least, and she was one of the group he had some respect for. Trixie seemed to look towards the town fiend with less moodiness, giving a shrug.

"Well, so long as you don't break anything or whatever, I guess you can stay. Don't think you could find your way back anyhow."

Turning around, it was indeed pitch dark now, and Robbie would have cursed his carelessness in forgetting to have a flashlight or lantern offhand in case the kid had said no. Luckily, things had worked out for once in a plan. He walked in, having to duck to avoid getting whacked by an ill-placed lamp, and Trixie closed the door behind him, and turning on the porch light. It was only when he stepped foot into the kitchen that he saw what he had to contend with, half of all surfaces obscured by everything you'd expect from a kitchen, and plenty of things that you'd sooner see in toolbox.

Well, partially to plan, at least.


	2. Dessert for Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the perils of the kitchen prove to be the most formidable adversary Robbie Rotten has ever faced. . .

It all went wrong with the first step onto the tile, the sound of rolling cups and toppled plates accompanying the startled shriek.

What followed after the silence was a snickering that was aggravatingly infectious, and despite it being at his expense, Robbie couldn't help himself. He could see what had happened, the stupidly obvious hazards he'd missed (how he'd looked when slipping MUST have been hilarious) and the how much more of a mess already he'd made. It wasn't all that bad- there was less of a hazard of hitting those obnoxiously low light fixtures from down here.

First thing first, get to the fridge.

Opening the door, he regretted noticing the fridge.

"Ugh! What even IS half of these plates?"

He had to ask, unable to keep the horror as some misshapen pieces resembled _vegetables_ (oh gag, fruit was bad enough as it was). Trixie wasn't pleased either, by that amusing expression she made in kind to the sight.

"Mom isn't. . . really good at cooking. Those are her attempts at "Caesar Salad"- she saw it at the store and thought she could make it cheaper at home."

Well, that explained the off-colored globs, dressing to drown the greens. If they weren't such offensive, Robbie might've pitied their fate. As it was, he'd at least put them out of their misery of being preserved any longer in their chilled prison.

"Well,"

_THun-K. THUNK._

One by one, the would-be meals were unceremoniously dumped from their containers- which were then tossed over onto the per-existing pile of things -into the tashcan. In total he'd cleared a whole shelf, and couldn't be bothered to do anymore.

If not for the effort it'd require, than that the idea of having to be near any more of the gunk and he might be ill. 

"She gets points for effort, but for style its got the same score as presentation."

Robbie moved his head to one side, and then the other, along with rolling his shoulders. As he limbered his stiff limbs, he had to ask,

"So, aside from whatever's still lurking in tupperware, any suggestions in what you're going to eat? And don't look to me for anything- coming over here at all was the _utmost_ extent of any "caring" I had in the way of being lazy."

Trixie's near scowl at having her own words rearranged and thrown back to her was nearly incorrigible. How unexpectedly delightful a thought that was, before it was shot down by her expression warping into something attempting to be sly.

"Well, not like I _need_ you to make anything. . . after all, I'd make a better pie than you ANY day."

The two stared at one another in silence, and despite the height difference it was like they were eye-level. Robbie Rotten lived up to his lastname's title by the way he stooped down with surprising grace, how his lips curled into a curt smirk, lingering at the corners of his mouth as he spoke in a quieter voice, despite it just being the 2 of them there.

"Now I _know_ that you're baiting me, you couldn't have been more obvious with a banner. And _you are going **down**_ _because I'm_ doing tHIS ANYWAY!"

As he turned swiftly he left his voice gain its reflective volume once again, and over dramatically threw open the fridge's door, uncaring of the creak of the hinges in complaint of such rough treatment. His grin was wide and lasting this time.

"Well then let's GO!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had only been 10 minutes into the process and already there were double crosses  to be tallied. Most by Trixie via small, almost perfectly executed sabotages.

When Robbie asked for the flour, he'd get powdered sugar, handed over in an absent-minded toss-off (or so it looked) and a quick, noncommittal shrug in apology. When going for the eggs, it seemed they were all already cracked, save for the ones the little girl had hoarded out of direct sight behind the edge of the mixing bowls. And when he finally _did_ get ahold of some and broken perfectly into place, turning his gaze away for a moment to check to oven awarded him shell fragments too small to be easy to get out, floating in the goop.

He supposed it was her consistency that only encouraged him all the more. That the impression he had of her having a streak to her, rather than a rare, occasional fluke with such behaviors, proving right made the inconveniences considerably more tolerable than otherwise. Usually he'd be miffed at tampering to his edible variety of creations, but for such an occasion, it wasn't a stretch to be a bit flexible. 

By the time both had finished, the kitchen somehow didn't look much worse than before, although the sink was a bit closer to full capacity to be certain. 

Neither confectionery appeared- well, appealing. Though the villain's certainly looked less lumpy as far as crusts went. In the end it was a course of popcorn and a frozen pizza Robbie had brought. A pizza made of dough, frosting for sauce and cookie-crumb as cheese, mind you, but let it not be said that Robbie Rotten let Trixie get away with eating nothing nutritional.

Milk had to be had with the pizza. Clearly.

They ate in the living room over place mats (he was lazy not a monster, sugar and crumbs would **never** get out of that kind of carpet), both enjoying the cheesy films that were on at the hour in their own ways. It was during one arduous track of commercials that Trixie turned down the volume, before staring at her guest.

Well, not exactly at Robbie. More so the sleeping bag, which against the more muted tones of her home's furniture, looked like something more befitting a clown's sense of decor.

"What's with that thing? You brought it here, so what's inside?"

'Never one to mince words,' the irritated (at the cheap plot on the screen) nemesis of exercising thought to himself, rolling his eyes as he decided to answer. Ignoring her wouldn't lead to anywhere, and be more likely to ruin the mood he'd miraculously sustained since he'd gotten there.

"Its called a 'Nunya'."

"Phft, yeah right! Heard that one before- use it on Stingy when he gets too nosy."

Huff or no huff, he couldn't deny that this new revelation was entertaining to picture. The spoiled brat- he remembered them best in the ludicrous little car the most clearly. That and something about singing "Mine" insistently.

"If you're not going to stop interrupting the movie until I tell-"

"I'm not-"

_"THEN_ , for your information, some dimwit mistook the hatch to my lair for some sort of donation box or the like. Tried finding them tmo give them a peace of my mind, but looks like it was one of those elusive tourists."

He just sounded bored by it all, shrugging at the imploring stare that clearly asked 'why didn't you keep looking if you didn't want it?'

"Not worth the effort. Besides, finder's keepers."

No level of awkward silence seemed to break the mastermind of his resolve to continue watching (and subsequently give complaining remarks about) the movie's third act, and eventually just watching the distracted ne'er-do-well was too uninteresting to keep up. 

So back to the movie they went . . .  and then discovered the sequel was up next. Checking the time slots proved to be the downfall of the duo.

_It was a **marathon**_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been getting later and later, which didn't bother Robbie in the slightest. He usually had trouble sleeping anyways, so irregular hours were like pocket change and health standards. Equally inconsequential as far as he was personally concerned.

He didn't bring it up with the Trixie because he had seen her obstinate with her own peers before, and didn't intentionally wish such ire upon himself. Likewise, it wasn't like she was his actual responsibility, or that she could stay up forever, given how busy a day it'd been.

Still, she made it impressively to nearly 11:30pm, before he noticed her taking on the characteristics of an ill-proportioned car-dashboard ornament, head moving in a bobbing motion with shortening intervals.

Cracking his knuckles and getting up with a stretch that creaked his skeleton seemed adequate to getting her somewhat divided attention, of what was left.

"Well, now I think I, the best in Lazy town at sleeping, will be turning in for the night."

He started for the stairs, pace deliberately showing off his overly-confident strut to match his comment. In a manner that Trixie couldn't have missed, even if half-asleep already.

"Undefeated, none could hope to sleep better or faster than me! Ha ha ha!"

While the laugh was just for effect, that seemed to be the final straw that pushed the pieces together to cause a blue of brown, red and white blur dash past him, nearly slipping down a mis-judged step or two. ~~Or Four.~~

Even though he'd missed whatever mumbled explanation she'd shouted back in the living room, where he could still hear the buzz of the TV and the grainy quality of the programs playing, his imagination could fill in with its own guessed. A genuine smile to his face, a gentle laugh from his mouth as he said to himself quietly, looking up the stairs after where the blur of a miniature storm had raced.

"Now _that_ is how you bait. Can't wait to see if she ever catches on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that and maybe the poisonous sports "candy" that's lying around.
> 
> This one's a bit longer to help make up for the fact that I doubt how much I'll be able to work on this during this particular week. 
> 
> Some questions posed now answered, and I hope that there'll be more! Helps making sure Ive got a maintenance on the structure.

**Author's Note:**

> A first attempt, and there will be more. Feedback is welcome, in case I'm off on my gasp of these characters.
> 
> Based from this prompt that'd been reblogged by another blog I follow:  
> https://gay-icelandic-sports-elf.tumblr.com/post/155682601961/imagine-robbie-finding-out-that-the-kids-parents


End file.
